All Through the Night
by callensensei
Summary: The castaways help Gilligan deal with the emotional aftermath of the events of "The Hunter."
1. Chapter 1

**All Through the Night**

"_There's one good thing about Ramoo still guarding us: it means that Gilligan made it through the night."_

_The Skipper, "The Hunter"_

They had to do something. Anything.

Something bright and cheery and relaxing, suggested the Professor. Immediately the girls had suggested a picnic at the lagoon, and the Skipper and the Professor had hurried down early that morning to ensure that there were no reminders – not so much as a broken branch or an indentation in the sand – of the helicopter that had landed there and taken off again two weeks earlier.

They could not have chosen a better day. A butter yellow sun glowed in the sky and a soft breeze stirred little wavelets on the surface of the lagoon. Mary Ann and Ginger had outdone themselves. The wooden crates that formed a makeshift table were decked with pink hibiscus, white plum blossoms and purple wisteria. Bowls of succulent fruit, pyramids of nuts and a great platter of crab and lobster were spread out on the tapa bark tablecloth. The girls had even worn grass skirts and flower leis and Ginger had promised to teach everyone the hula.

And it was all going just as planned until Gilligan had gotten up to refill the jug of fresh water from the little waterfall that tumbled into the lagoon. Using a long pole attached to the handle, he held the jug under the glittering water until the bright bubbles rose to the surface, then pulled it back and walked back towards his friends. As he walked he tugged at the little vine knot that tied the handle to the pole. Almost freeing it, he gave the pole a mighty tug and it slid down between his ankles, tangling his feet. He tripped, spun, and the jug went flying.

A moment later it sent a great cold splash right across the Skipper's back.

More startled than angry, the Skipper spun 'round bellowing, "Gilligan, how many times can you—" and stopped dead, mentally cursing himself.

The others had all gone quite still, and all were staring down at Gilligan. He was crouched on the grass, motionless, paralyzed with fear. His great appalled blue eyes stared straight ahead and saw no one.

The Skipper started towards him but the Professor held up a hand. "Careful, Skipper. Gently! No sudden moves."

The Skipper nodded and approached his first mate slowly, his voice much gentler now. "Gilligan, little buddy, I'm sorry. I should have remembered how loud noises bother you."

Gilligan was still trembling in that feral crouch, oblivious to the presence of his friends. He looked ready to bolt at any second.

"That fiend!" whispered Mr. Howell, sotto voce. The millionaire had never looked so angry.

"Nobody move!" whispered the Professor. "If he runs, we'll never catch him!"

The castaways froze like statues and watched while the sunlight danced on the water and gleamed on the dazzling white sand. Gilligan's breathing gradually slowed and at last he picked himself up off of the ground, running his hand through his dark hair and squeezing his eyes shut as if to block out some dreadful vision. The wild glare in his eyes gave way to a haunted look of despair that was almost worse.

Everyone released a pent up breath. The Skipper laid a large, gentle hand on Gilligan's arm. "Little buddy, this has gone too far. You can't pretend it never happened. You can't even sleep at night. Please, Gilligan, you've got to talk about it!"

Gilligan shuddered. "I – I can't, Skipper. Please, don't ask me to. It's like a big black hole. If I go in, I might never get out." He looked at his friends who were still staring at him with sorrow and pity, and heaved a great, shivering sigh. "I'm going back to camp, Skipper. Suddenly I'm not hungry. I'm just tired. So tired." The Skipper's hand fell from Gilligan's red shirted arm as the young first mate turned and stumbled wearily up the trail towards the huts.

For a few moments no one spoke. Mary Ann looked disconsolately at the beautiful table and blinked back tears. "We were so hoping this might snap him out of it!"

The Skipper passed a hand over his eyes. "Oh, girls, this is all my fault!"

"No, Skipper, you mustn't blame yourself! No one's done more for him than you have." Mary Ann looked at the trail where Gilligan had disappeared. "At least he didn't run this time. The last time we didn't see him for two whole days. We couldn't find him anywhere!"

"When Gilligan doesn't want to be found, you don't find him," said Ginger. She bit her lip. "Well, we know it's true. That's the reason…" and she swallowed, "the reason he lived."

"You call this living?" cried the Skipper. "Two weeks. Two weeks it's been since that maniac Jonathan Kinkaid and his native goon Ramoo hunted Gilligan all over this island in that twisted game, and my little buddy's been like this ever since! I swear, if I ever get my hands on Kinkaid…" and he made a strangling motion with his powerful hands.

"By Jove, Captain, if my millions will help to track him down, you'll get that chance. That fiend!" Howell growled again. "I ask you - what kind of man tries to kill another human being for sport?"

"A madman, Mr. Howell," muttered the Professor. "And even though he failed to kill Gilligan, the harm he inflicted upon our young friend is immense."

"But why does the poor boy keep going into that dreadful trance?" said Mrs. Howell. "It's as though he were living the hunt all over again!"

The Professor shook his head sadly. "He is, Mrs. Howell. That ordeal overwhelmed Gilligan's psychological defenses. He can't seem to integrate the experience into his conscious memory. He hasn't been able to talk about it or think about it!"

"That's right," said the Skipper dejectedly. "You all heard Gilligan. He can't remember – or won't remember. He just goes back into that blind panic whenever there's a loud noise or a sudden movement. And he has nightmares – terrible ones. I have to wake him up, and he can't remember when he does wake up, but he's afraid to go back to sleep again!"

"I don't blame him," said the Professor. "What terrible memories those must be. But he has to face them, sooner or later, or his psyche will never heal and he may even make himself physically ill!"

"What do you mean, Professor?" cried Mary Ann.

"I mean that those awful memories are seething in his subconscious mind like the molten lava in a volcano. At this rate he's going to erupt, and whether he can survive the emotional upheaval is entirely uncertain."

The Skipper swallowed. "My little buddy's stronger than you think, Professor. Twenty-four hours straight that monster hunted him. Twelve of those hours were pitch black night. How did my little buddy survive that night alone, Professor? How did he do it?"

"I don't know. I truly don't. But we can see what it cost him. I – I just wish I knew what to do."


	2. Chapter 2

Silken moonlight spilled through the window of the crew's hut, casting every object in silver light and deep blue shadow. In the lower hammock the Skipper lay listening intently to Gilligan's slowed breathing. At last the Skipper felt reassured enough to relax himself and was just beginning to nod off when he heard the now familiar restless, desperate muttering begin above him. "Kinkaid…where is he…keep running…"

The Skipper was fully awake in an instant and half sat up, reaching up towards the upper hammock. "Gilligan, little buddy?"

"Oh Skipper, _anybody!_"

With a wild jerk and a scream Gilligan flung himself out of the hammock and landed on the floor in a heap, but an instant later was crouched like an animal, staring all around with eyes dilated with terror. "He's coming!" he whispered. "Got to keep moving! Can't let him find me!"

The Skipper had swung his feet to the floor now and sat grasping the edges of the hammock. "Gilligan! Little buddy, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

But Gilligan seemed completely unaware of him. The first mate was backing into the corner now, panting and whimpering with fear. "He's going to kill me! He's out there somewhere! I can't see him! Oh, God…"

The Skipper couldn't bear it. He stood up and started forward but Gilligan, sensing something approaching him, suddenly straightened and jerked like a puppet. "Kinkaid!" Gilligan shot out of the hut with manic speed.

"Gilligan! Wait a minute!" The Skipper tore out after him.

Gilligan was racing for the trees, but the bamboo table was in his way. With a leap born of pure desperation he cleared it, but two weeks of insomnia had sapped his normal agility. He missed his footing on the other side and crashed to the ground, gasping in pain. Moments later he was launching himself blindly forwards, struggling to get to his feet. It was at that moment that the Skipper caught his arms from behind and pulled him up.

"Gilligan, wake up! Just hold it a minute!"

The grip on his arms drove Gilligan frantic. He fought like a wildcat. "Ramoo! No! Let go!" But the Skipper held him like an anchor.

"Calm down, little buddy! I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself!"

Gilligan twisted wildly, kicking at his captor. "Ramoo! Get off of me! How can you help him do this!"

By now the others had come running out of their huts. The Howells were dressed for bed but the Professor was still in his shirt and trousers and the girls were still fully dressed as well. They came crowding around the bamboo table to find the Skipper stalwartly hanging on to his screaming, struggling first mate. The Howells and the girls hung back as the Professor approached cautiously, hands held out in a gesture of reassurance. "Gilligan, Gilligan, don't you know us? It's your friends! It's me, the Professor!"

Gilligan looked at the Professor with eyes wild with despair, and didn't see him. "Kinkaid....it's you…it's finally over!" The young sailor broke into a soft, almost hysterical laugh and ceased to struggle. "Kinkaid, I know I'm not gonna change your mind, no matter what I say. But I'm gonna say this: that I was happy here and I'm not sorry the seven of us were shipwrecked together – even if this is how it's gotta end!" His breath came in great heaves as he stayed upright only because the Skipper held him. "But Kinkaid, whatever you do to me, please, please don't hurt my friends!"

"Gilligan, little buddy, wake up! It's us!"

Something in that voice finally broke through, and Gilligan's eyes slowly focused on the man who held him. "Skipper?" came his faint cry. Then his arms locked around the Skipper's neck just as his legs seemed to turn to rubber. His voice became that of a wounded animal. _"Skipper…oh my God!"_

That cry pierced Jonas Grumby to the heart. Helpless rage flooded him as it had not done since Pearl Harbour. He held his first mate tightly as the trembling young man began to shudder and keen in a voice taut with terror and grief. _"My God, my God…what did I do? Why did he do that to me? Why?"_

As Gilligan crumpled the Skipper sank down with him, unwilling to break either Gilligan's death-grip or his own. At last, kneeling on the sand, he pulled his stricken friend close and stroked his back gently. He could barely speak for the lump in his throat. "Oh, little buddy. Shhh. It's all right. The Skipper's here. It's gonna be all right now."

The others watched helplessly as Gilligan wept with terrifying abandon. Mary Ann, hands to her mouth, finally turned and fled into her hut. But it was not to hide, for in a moment she came running out again carrying a blanket. Rushing over to Gilligan, she wrapped the blanket tenderly around his heaving shoulders and knelt beside him, arms around him, sandwiching him between herself and the Skipper. She looked as though she meant to ride out a storm.

For a time the Professor merely stood looking down at them, fists clenched. Then he spoke in a voice of steely determination. "Gilligan had to get through that long, terrible night all alone - but not _this_ one. I for one am not going to sleep until he does, even if it takes all night." He strode resolutely to the pile of firewood by the supply hut.

"I'm staying up too," said Ginger quietly.

"So am I," said Mr. Howell. "Lovey?"

Lovey had been clinging close to her husband's protective arms, but now she stood up straight. "Thurston, we are going to do everything we can to help that poor boy!"

Meanwhile the Professor had returned and was now kneeling in the centre of the camp, arranging wood for a fire. Ginger looked across to the little ring of stones that held the ashes of the castaway's campfire. "Why are you building the fire over here, Professor? Why not in the firepit?"

"Oh, I am going to make one over there, Ginger, in case we want to cook something. But this is going to be a bonfire. The more light and heat we can generate, the better."

"Have we got enough wood for a bonfire?"

The Professor stood up, brushing off his hands. "If we haven't, we'll get it. I don't care if we use up every stick of firewood we've got. It'll be worth it. Let's get some kindling from the supply hut."

"No need, Professor," said Mr. Howell, reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulling out a sheaf of bills. "You can use this. It's wonderfully dry."

Ginger looked at the bills, raising her eyebrows. "You actually carry money in your pajamas, Mr. Howell?"

"Heavens, no, Ginger. Far too sharp and crackly. Besides, Teddy's allergic. I don't wear my dressing gown to bed. I just like to have a little cash on hand for emergencies."

The Professor looked from the money to Ginger, and then back at Mr. Howell. "And you're going to let us burn it? That's very noble, Mr. Howell."

Thurston Howell's normally suave voice momentarily trembled. "I offered that man ten times this amount to let Gilligan go. It didn't do any good. Please, Professor, let it do some good now."

"Well…" the Professor took the proffered bills. "Thank you. This should help a great deal."

Lovey suddenly had an idea. "Thurston, I'm going to make a pot of coffee."

Her husband blinked. "Coffee? But Lovey my dear, you've never made coffee before in your life. Wouldn't you be better with tea?"

"Well, honestly, Thurston, if Gilligan can make it, so can I. And if we're all staying up, we'll need something strong to keep us awake."

"You're so right, my dear. Come along to the supply hut. I'll fetch the water."

The Howells turned to go, but Mrs. Howell instinctively paused before the three castaways on the ground. She bent and stroked the anguished first mate's forehead gently. "You're going to be all right, dear boy," she murmured, and they hurried off.


	3. Chapter 3

The huge, lustrous moon gleamed like a pearl in the dark sky, bathing the island in blue and silver. In the centre of the camp the great bonfire blazed and leapt a brilliant orange, illumining the three castaways still seated on the ground. The Skipper, who had taken no notice of anyone or anything but his first mate, sat rubbing Gilligan's back and murmuring gently to him. Mary Ann, on the other side, had brought a damp cloth for his face. By now Gilligan's grief had exhausted itself and he lay against the Skipper's chest, blinking in a depressed daze. Since he had first collapsed in the Skipper's arms, he had not spoken.

Ginger sat on the bench by the communal table, twisting her long hands helplessly in her lap. The Professor poked a stick into the base of the bonfire and rocked back on his knees as he watched the orange-yellow flames lick hungrily around the wood.

"You always make such wonderful fires, Professor," she murmured. "Why is it I can't do something like that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. "Sometimes being a scoutmaster comes in handy."

Ginger fingered the gauzy blue scarf that hung from the shoulder strap of her gown. "Mary Ann and I were sitting up late talking earlier. I was telling her how I'd once thought of being a nurse. Tonight…tonight I wish I had!"

The Professor looked up at her tone and came to sit beside her on the bench. "Why, Ginger?"

She looked wretchedly at the three on the ground. "I feel so useless. What good is a movie star right now? If I were a nurse maybe I could help Gilligan!"

The Professor gently took her hand. "There's more than one way to heal. You're an entertainer. Perhaps that _is_ what he needs now. Go on, Ginger. Give it a try."

Ginger frowned for a moment, then looked as determined as the Professor had when he had begun to build the fire. She took a deep breath and leaned forward to face Gilligan. "Gilligan, sweetheart, listen to me. I'd like to sing for you. Would you like that?"

Gilligan didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were closed and every so often his breath hitched painfully. But the Skipper nodded at her in encouragement and he and Mary Ann sat back a bit and kept absolutely quiet. Then Ginger began to sing in her softest, sweetest, most tender voice. And though it was not one of the lounge songs she was famous for, they all recognized it at once.

_Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee_

_All through the night._

_Guardian angels God will send thee_

_All through the night._

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping_

_Hill and dale in slumber steeping_

_I my loving vigil keeping_

_All through the night._

At the first petal-soft notes Gilligan's eyes had slowly opened and he stared at her in wonder. She gazed at him, smiling gently, as though they were the only two people there. Gilligan's eyes never left her. Slowly he quieted, his breaths lengthening, as he leaned into the Skipper's protective arm.

_While the moon her watch is keeping  
All through the night  
While the weary world is sleeping  
All through the night  
O'er thy spirit gently stealing  
Visions of delight revealing  
Breathes a pure and holy feeling  
All through the night_

As the last notes of the chorus faded into the darkness, Gilligan heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the haunted look he had worn for days was gone. He did not speak, but gazed up at her as though she were an angel.

Even the Skipper was still having a hard time trying to speak. "Oh, Ginger, that was beautiful!"

"Hear, hear! No nurse could have done that," murmured the Professor.

"Thank you. Would you like to hear some more, Gilligan?"

There was an almost imperceptible nod.

"All right then. I'll sing you some songs my great grandmother sang to me when I was a little girl; she said they were from the old country. Whenever I hear them I feel safe and warm. I hope you like them."

The actress's voice caressed the night air again. And again they were not the familiar sultry tunes, but this time they were old, old Scottish airs filled with love and longing. Come By the Hills, Annie Laurie, Bonnie Doon, Will Ye No Come Back Again…

_Will ye no' come back again_

_Will ye no' come back again_

_Better loved ye canna be_

_Will ye no' come back again_

On and on she sang, as the fire blazed bright and the surf crashed softly in the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

The great backlit clouds were piling high above the moon until finally they began to drift apart, revealing the stars. It seemed that Mrs. Howell had spilled her whole jewel box out on the night sky.

"Lovey, my dear, I think you've let the pot boil too long. That brew does smell awfully pungent."

"Nonsense, Thurston. You heard what the Professor said. It's no good to us if it's too weak."

"Well, if you say so, my dear."

The Howells left the campfire that they had been tending a little ways off and approached with a tray of clay mugs, napkins and a plate with a large, brown loaf. "Here we are, everyone! Coffee and cake!" called Mrs. Howell happily, her blue chiffon robe swishing around her.

Her husband set the tray on the table and picked up a knife. "It's the fruitcake you made yesterday, Mary Ann. We took the liberty of requisitioning it, if you don't mind."

Mary Ann smiled. "Not at all, Mr. Howell. Here, let me help you serve."

She touched Gilligan reassuringly on the arm as she slipped to her feet. He looked up to see her go, but made no move to leave the Skipper. Silently he shook his head at the cake Mrs. Howell offered him but did take the steaming mug. A slight scent of chamomile wafted above it. "This one is different, Gilligan dear," she murmured. "It's an herbal tea. I hope you like it."

When Gilligan's hand shook slightly as he grasped the mug, the Skipper reached up to steady it. But Gilligan's hand stopped shaking after a moment, and he sipped the drink. He glanced up at Mrs. Howell and nodded, then grasped the cup in both hands and drank some more.

The others by this point were getting their first taste of Mrs. Howell's coffee. When Ginger took a tiny sip, it took all her acting ability not to make a face. "Uh…could I have a little more sugar, Mrs. Howell?"

"Why surely, dear. Here you are."

"Thank you." Ginger dumped a third of the bowl into her cup and stirred it vigourously. "I have a sweet tooth," she explained.

The Professor sniffed his coffee and surreptitiously poured it into the sand at the edge of the bonfire. Mary Ann, who had settled back in next to Gilligan, saw this and got up again with her own cup. "Uh, I just remembered there's some fruit left over from dinner. Why don't I go and get it?" When she returned, her cup had mysteriously vanished.

Meanwhile, the Skipper took a deep draught as the others watched in amazement. "Mmmm. That's great, Mrs. Howell. Lots of body, just the way I like it."

Mr. Howell looked at his expectant wife and realized there was no escape. He took a nervous sip and choked like a man who has tried to swig brandy. "Oh! Cough! Cough! Bravo, my dear. Nectar and ambrosia."

"You'd better have some more, Thurston dear. It sounds as though this night air is giving you a chill." She happily topped up his cup with the thick, viscous black brew. "There's a whole potful, darling."

Mr. Howell hurriedly put his hand to his lips and cleared his throat. "Ah, in a moment, my dear. Now, this puts me in mind of a funny story about my eccentric Uncle Egbert Howell and the time he bought a coffee plantation in South America. Oh, he was a character, my Uncle Egbert: I've got a million stories about him. He didn't realize that you got the coffee from the little red beans on the trees, you see. No, no, he thought you tapped the trunk and the coffee came dripping down the little spout like maple syrup. He had pails hung on all the trees and used to wander about them with a mug of cream and sugar all ready."

The castaways snorted with laughter and shook their heads. "Mr. Howell, I don't believe you! You're making that up!" laughed Mary Ann.

"Oh, by no means, my dear! Uncle Egbert is a veritable legend in our family. Why, I was there myself the time when he…"

Gilligan was watching them all intently. He bent his head to his cup, but his eyes were twinkling.


	5. Chapter 5

The east was growing brighter: already the silhouettes of the mountains were visible in the distance. Only the glowing embers of the bonfire remained now, but the castaways could see one another clearly in the pre-dawn light. The fringed outlines of the palms stirred gently against the magenta sky.

The Professor pointed above to the west, where the sky was still dark. "It's truly amazing how clear the night sky is out here. We're free of smog and light pollution, and that gives us the greatest show on earth."

"I don't know how you remember all those names," said Ginger. "How many stars have you pointed out tonight? It must be more than all the ones in Hollywood combined!"

The Professor laughed. "Well, knowing the constellations helps. And up there we can still see the last traces of the largest constellation of all: Ptolemy's Argo Navis, the great ship."

The Skipper looked up. "I learned to navigate by the southern stars, Professor, but I never heard of a constellation of a ship."

"Well, technically it's a northern constellation, Skipper, since even here we're still north of the equator. But you've never heard of it because it was so big that astronomers now divide it into many smaller constellations. Now it's Carina, the keel, Puppis, the poop deck, and Vela, the sails. There, you see?"

The castaways looked up and tried to envision the immense diamond studded sailing ship skimming across the sky.

"And there, Pyxis, the mariner's compass. It was once considered part of the ship's mast, but now it's also a constellation on its own. And over there, Volens the flying fish and Columba the dove."

"They're such lovely names," said Mrs. Howell. "And they seem so close, like you could reach out your hand and touch them!"

"And that, of course, is Polaris, the North Star. The star that never moves, and guides the sailor safe home to port."

"It reminds me of the song," said Mary Ann. "O Star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright, westward leading, still proceeding—"

"Guide us to thy perfect light," Gilligan sang softly.

Everyone stopped and stared at him. They were the first words he had uttered since the beginning of the long night.

Gilligan's face was calm and thoughtful. "You know, Skipper, now that I think about it, I wasn't really alone that night. Oh, I was scared all right. I'd never been so scared in my life…not even on the Minnow in the storm. But I wasn't alone. I remember the animals now: the monkeys, the lizards, the birds. They showed me how to hide and how to know someone was coming. That's why he couldn't catch me. I had eyes and ears everywhere in the jungle."

Everyone listened, rapt, as Gilligan carried on. "And I remember that even though there wasn't any moon that night, it just made the stars all the brighter. They made me think that all of you were looking up at those same stars. And I knew all of you were pulling for me, and the last thing I could do was give up." He looked at the Skipper with great gravity. "And I'm sure glad I didn't, 'cause there's something very important I've got to say to you, Skipper."

The Skipper looked equally serious. "What's that, little buddy?"

"That the next time I spill something on you, you better yell at me. Otherwise you're likely to make yourself sick!"

The castaways burst into laughter. "By George!" chuckled Mr. Howell.

The Skipper shook Gilligan's shoulder gently. "Little buddy, you are too much!"

Gilligan looked around him. "But at least I know what the cure is now. And you know, I almost feel sorry for Jonathan Kinkaid."

The Skipper stared. "But why?"

"Because he's the one that's alone, and he always will be. He'll never have friends like you. Nobody will ever do anything like this for him."

The castaways sat silently as the sky above them glowed a soft pink. At last a ray of pure gold burst over the fiery tops of the clouds, turning the sky to brilliant blue. A clear, bubbling melody floated on the air as the first of the birds of paradise greeted the dawn.

Gilligan looked up at the lightening sky and yawned. He pointed to the last star still visible. "What's that star called, Professor?"

"Hmmm?" The Professor turned and looked at the brilliant pinpoint of light, like a winking jewel just above the wafting fronds of the palm trees. "That's not a star, Gilligan, that's a planet. Our nearest neighbour, Venus. The ancient peoples called it the morning star. It attains its maximum brightness—"

"Professor!" Mary Ann whispered. "Look!"

Cradled in the Skipper's arm, Gilligan had fallen asleep on big man's shoulder. The dark shadow of stubble framing his mouth betrayed a gentle smile.

The Skipper's blue eyes were wet. "Little buddy…finally! Oh, thanks, Professor. Thank you, everybody!"

The Professor shook his head in wonder. "'Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.'"

_Finis_

"All Through the Night" lyrics by Sir Harold Boulton

"Will Ye No Come Back Again" lyrics by Carolina, Lady Nairne


End file.
